


To Remember This Day

by Thorinsmut



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Piercings, Tattoos, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 05:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The remaining members of the Company hold a wake after the Battle of Five Armies. <br/>Dwarven mourning rituals are painful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Remember This Day

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at http://thorinsmut.tumblr.com/post/40878563060/to-remember-this-day

They were all sitting around the fire… those of the Company who were left in the aftermath.  
A bottle of mead was passing around the fire, and those who needed it drank.  
Some wept.  
They all clung to their kin, glad they still had one another, even as they mourned those who were gone.  
“I remember the time…” Dwalin started, quietly, the warrior’s voice hoarse with unshed grief, “I remember the time Fili cut Kili’s hair… I don’t remember what they had been arguing of… I remember how angry Dis was with them… I remember how defiant Fili was, he would not apologize… until Thorin… he didn’t have to say a single word, he just looked at him with disappointment and Fili crumbled… he lived for Thorin’s approval and now he’s… they’re _all three_ … What am I going to tell Dis? I promised to protect them…”  
The mead was passed to him and he took a sip, much less than most were taking. Balin rested his forehead against his brother’s, their arms around one another… the elder shedding the tears the younger could not, not yet.  
“She knew the risks.” Balin said quietly.  
Bofur and Bombur had pulled Bilbo into the circle of their family, wedging him between them as they held one another for comfort.  
Bifur spoke in Khuzdul, using his Inglishmek to sign what he could not say, and Bofur translated for those who could not understand, his voice stuffy from tears.  
“I have never been more honored than I was on the day that Thorin approached us to help fund this quest. I have never met another I could so proudly call my King.”  
The mead was passed to Bifur, he declined it, but Bofur took it, drinking heavily before passing it to Bilbo, who took a hefty swig, then passed it to Bombur who polished it off. Another bottle was opened.  
Ori was held tight between Dori and Nori, his tears flowed freely down his face… he made no effort to hide them.  
“Fili and Kili were my friends.” He said, lips trembling, “They _always_ looked out for me, and I… I…” he let out a choked sob, turning his head into Dori’s shoulder, unable to continue.  
“Thorin let me in to his company, even though I’m not respectable.” Nori said, rubbing Ori’s back. “He was willing to trust me at my word… and there is no one, _no one_ , I would rather have fought by the side of.”  
All three brothers drank when the mead was passed to them.  
“They were true warriors, and I am proud to have called them kin.” Gloin said, the red bearded warrior was seated back, his face shadowed so it could not be seen.  
“They will feast in the halls of their ancestors, with the Mighty Warriors of legend who’s ranks they have joined.” Oin added.  
A ragged chorus of ‘hear, hear’ echoed for that one.  
Gloin drank heavily when the mead was passed, but Oin declined.  
“I… I will always remember…” Bilbo piped up, hesitantly, not sure if he was really allowed to join in, “I will always remember Fili and Kili as the laughing boys juggling my plates… and I will always remember Thorin… I wanted to make him proud of me… from the first moment I saw him…” Bilbo’s throat closed up on him, and Bifur rubbed his back comfortingly while Bofur and Bombur squeezed him tighter.  
“Aye, he had that effect.” Balin agreed, quietly, and the mead passed back to Bilbo, who drank again. He was feeling it already, a heat in his cheeks and lightness in his head… not light enough yet to balance the heavy pain in his heart.  
More stories were told, mostly by those who had known the King and his Heirs for the longest, and more bottles were emptied by them all.  
Bilbo found himself sobbing helplessly against Bombur’s chest as the Dwarves sang songs who’s words he could not understand but even so he could _feel_ the pain in them.  
“I will remember this day.” Dwalin said into the silence, his voice low, chanting the words, “In my bones I will remember this day. In my flesh I will remember this day. On my skin I will remember this day. Those who are gone will not be forgotten so long as I live.” He closed his eyes, repeating himself, and now Balin and Oin and Gloin had joined in… Dori and Nori on the next repetition… and all of them, even Bilbo, and Bifur trying, on the next.  
The words repeated over and over… a prayer into the darkness of the cold night… and Bilbo’s eyes were overflowing with tears again. This day… he could see Thorin, laid to rest in the cold mountain with the Arkenstone on his chest and Orkrist in his hand, looking no less a King in death… he could see Fili and Kili, their pale broken bodies laying side by side, their fingers intertwined so they need never be separated…  
Oh, he would remember this day.  
The chanting had stopped at some unseen signal, and Dwalin had taken off his shirt, the red firelight glancing across his furry scarred chest, with it’s piercings and tattoos. He looked himself over before choosing a piece of skin. Oin had brought out tools from his medicine kit, and Dwalin lay down as the healer wiped the skin down with a cloth and distilled spirits before setting to pricking the skin over and over, rubbing ink into the wound.  
Bifur had gone through his things, and was also bringing out tools, sharp little picks, ink, and small gold rings.  
“What is…” Bilbo asked quietly, his tongue feeling clumsy in his mouth, and Bofur answered quietly.  
“We remember those we have lost on our skin, and in our flesh.” the kind Dwarf answered quietly, his voice still stuffy from tears, he tugged on his earring, “This was for my Mother, taken by the Dragon…”  
“So Dwalin, with all of his…” Bilbo asked, and once again was answered before he finished.  
“For those lost in Moria, and for those lost in Erebor… and now for the loss of his King, and others who’s meanings I do not know…”  
“…oh..” Bilbo had of course seen the tattoos and piercings of all his Dwarf companions, but he’d never realized…  
“They’ll understand if you don’t want to.” Bofur said quietly, “Or if you get something small, that you can hide…”  
“I… I would not want to hide it…” Bilbo said, his heavy heart thudding deep in his chest. His head felt thick, but it felt right. It would honor their memory, to remember them in their own way. Bombur had moved away, taking off his shirt , telling Bifur to give him a tattoo around his upper arm, so Bilbo was laying against Bofur alone.  
“There’s the beginning.” Oin said, apparently finished with Dwalin’s tattoo, for now. He rubbed the place down with distilled spirits again, and the Warrior growled, body arching against the pain as he clung to his brother’s hand. When his fresh tattoo was bandaged, Dwalin pierced the shell of Oin’s ear, threading a plain gold loop through it… and then the two of them began to move from Dwarf to Dwarf with their tools…  
Bofur and Bilbo had moved to hold Bombur’s hands, the solid cook weeping silently as Bifur worked, and crying out in a wordless scream when spirits were poured over the fresh wound… but he did not move away.  
Bilbo did not see what Ori had had done… but he did hear the half-strangled laugh/sob, and he saw that Dwalin and Nori were cradling the little scholar, whispering to him…  
Gloin, Dori, and Nori bore the marks of their choosing in silence… and Bilbo held Bofur’s hand as Bifur tattooed a mark to match his brother’s, the tough miner sitting in perfect stillness with his head bowed, quiet tears streaming down his cragged face.  
Dwalin was discussing with Bifur what the toymaker wanted when Bilbo was approached by Oin.  
“And what of you, Burglar?” the older Dwarf asked, quietly. “Will you remember?” and Bilbo nodded, touching his ears.  
“A piercing?” Oin said, tilting the Hobbit’s head to examine his ears in the firelight. He ran his fingers lightly over the curves of Bilbo’s ears, sending a shivering bolt through him, and the Hobbit whimpered, pulling away, blushing far redder than just from the mead alone.  
“I’ve not hurt you yet, lad…” Oin was confused.  
“They’re just… sensitive on Hobbits…” Bilbo blushed harder… wishing he was not having to explain this to the most deaf Dwarf in the Company.  
“Eh?” Oin peered at Bilbo, aiming his ear trumpet at him. Bilbo could feel tears starting to gather at the corners of his eyes again, his traitorous bottom lip trembling… he was too drunk and too heartbroken to deal with this…  
“Let me, Oin.” Dwalin broke in, his big tattooed hand resting gently on Oin’s shoulder, ushering him toward Bifur. The warrior knelt beside Bilbo, easily repositioning the Hobbit so he could see his ears. He turned Bilbo’s head back and forth to look at his ears without touching… his eyes more gentle than Bilbo had ever seen them before.  
“Balin told me a little about Hobbit ears.” Dwalin rumbled, “And you are sure you want yours pierced?”  
“I was thinking…” Bilbo said, hesitantly, touching his right ear with two fingers, “…for Fili and Kili…” he touched his left ear with a single finger, “…for Thorin.”  
Dwalin nodded approvingly, “I have… some experience with sensitive piercings…” he said, and Bilbo nodded, he had _seen_ Dwalin naked before, after all… “I will have to touch your ears… and the pain will be… terrible… and beautiful…” The warrior was clearly struggling to find the right words to prepare Bilbo.  
“Terrible and beautiful… like Thorin.” Bilbo said quietly, and immediately cursed the looseness of his drunken tongue, but Dwalin nodded. He leaned in close, his rough hand on Bilbo’s cheek, eyes pinning him in place.  
“Do you trust me, Hobbit.” He rumbled, a spark of heat running through the intensity of his contact.  
“With my life.” Bilbo’s answer was immediate… after all they had been through together.  
“Bofur.” Dwalin called, and the miner came over immediately, held Bilbo as Dwalin instructed as the warrior cleaned all his instruments in distilled spirits, and set out the three gold rings he wanted to use.  
Bofur and Dwalin cradled Bilbo, his head resting on Bofur’s chest as Dwalin ran his callused fingers over Bilbo’s right ear. Bilbo shuddered, clinging to Bofur, trying not to react and failing.  
Dwalin kneaded the ear, feeling the thickness of the cartilage, Bilbo knew, but still he whimpered.  
“Just like Balin said…” Dwalin acknowledged, then he was rubbing a spirits-moistened cloth over Bilbo’s ear, working it into every curve and fold, his skin burning from the alcohol.  
“Now it hurts.” Dwalin rumbled, “Hold him tight…” And Bofur’s arms obediently clenched down on him. Bilbo closed his eyes. He felt the sharp tip of the piercing awl touch his ear down on the lower curve, Dwalin’s warm fingers holding his ear still… and then a quick push…  
The pain was… everywhere… tendrils shooting out from the tender edge of his ear, some down his jaw, or across his forehead, down his neck and spine clear to his toes, curling in the pit of his stomach, and burning red-hot up his thighs… He gasped, curling in on himself… his nails biting into Bofur where he held him.  
Dwalin was working quickly, replacing the awl with a ring, pushing it through the new hole.  
“Again.” Dwalin said, the awl pricking Bilbo’s ear beside the first, before a second wave of pain, sharper than the first, blossomed from the Hobbit’s ear. Something, not-quite-words broke out of Bilbo’s throat, though he tried to stop it. Tears were once again squeezing out of his eyes, and he was trembling all over… he could feel a line of cold sweat creeping down his spine. The pain was horrible… and somehow, perversely, _good_ as it curled through his groin.  
“The pain of the body reflects the pain of the heart.” Dwalin was rumbling quietly, whispering in his ear as he worked, putting the ring through the piercing, the warmth of his breath against Bilbo’s ear would have been distracting at the best of times… He bit his lips, refusing to let himself moan.  
“No shame, not here, not amongst us…” Dwalin whispered, he was done placing the jewelry in Bilbo’s ear, and his powerful arms wrapped around the Hobbit’s body along with Bofur’s. “Whatever you need to do… whatever you need to say… The pain of the body reflects the pain of the heart, and as the body heals, so will the heart…” He rested one hand in the center of Bilbo’s chest, and Bilbo opened his eyes to look up at the scarred Dwarf.  
Dwalin nodded, deciding that Bilbo was ready. He shifted the Hobbit so he was pressed against his own chest instead of Bofur’s, his freshly pierced ear pressing against the warrior’s chest, and his left ear exposed. Bilbo gasped at the sharpness of the pain as his new rings dragged against Dwalin’s clothes.  
“Let the pain remind you of them.” Dwalin rumbled, the depth of his voice amplified by Bilbo’s position on his chest. He arranged Bofur so Bilbo was once again securely held, as though Bofur and Dwalin were embracing and he was trapped in the middle. Dwalin’s sure fingers once again kneaded his ear, and Bilbo moaned quietly against the warrior’s chest. His ear was cleaned, and the awl pressed up near the tip of his ear, at the most sensitive spot.  
He held his breath, his nails biting into Dwalin’s shoulders as he waited.  
“Now.” Dwalin whispered.  
It was… his ear blossoming in fire… a white-hot sword stabbing down through the core of his body… pain lashing across the backs of his thighs, reaching up between his legs… and a single word screaming it’s way out of the pit of his stomach…  
“ _Thorin!”_ … and in that one word, everything… everything and nothing.  
It was good there were two Dwarves holding him down, as his body convulsed, his legs futilely kicking until he got himself back under control, at least a little… he was still trembling violently.  
Dwalin made quiet soothing noises as he put the ring through Bilbo’s new piercing… the Hobbit groaning at the warm breath across his ear.  
“Your cousin needs you.” Dwalin informed Bofur, and the miner untangled himself from the Hobbit and the warrior, going to Bifur, who was growling sharp words in Khuzdul as Oin tattooed something across his shoulders.  
Dwalin made no move to release him, and Bilbo was glad of it, shaking, drenched in his own cold sweat… he clung unashamedly to the massive warrior.  
Dwalin accepted the current open bottle of mead, finally allowing himself to drink deeply, then offered it to Bilbo, helped hold it steady as the Hobbit drank.  
“You have done them honor this night.” Dwalin said, quietly.  
Bifur’s tattoo was done, for the moment, and Oin had expertly bandaged it… more wood was thrown on the fire to keep it hot, to keep away the chill cold of the winter air and the darkness of grief.  
They grouped together, holding one another… no longer just in groups of kin. More songs were sung, in both in the common tongue and in Khuzdul… and more stories were told… and more mead was drunk… and more wood put on the fire… until the gray light of dawn stole over the world and they looked at one another, their faces pale and smudged with ash, eyes hollow with grief and pain… but alive.  
“Farewell, Thorin Oakenshield.” Balin said, quietly. “Farewell Fili and Kili… never may your memory fade.”  
The words were echoed by each of the Company in turn.  
And they left the fire, and walked back to the mountain. Together.


End file.
